Birds
by Rayless Night
Summary: He broke curses. He studied so that people couldn't be held captive under magical control of any type. Fleur Delacour's effect on him seemed almost like a personal offense.


_Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series is the property of J.K. Rowling. This was inspired by the song "Pretty Bird" by the Swtichblade Kittens. Rating is for language and suggestive themes.  
_

_Author's Note: This is a different take on the Bill-meets-Fleur story. It is __not__ a tie-in with my earlier HP story, __Kindred__, though it shares some of my personal fanon. There's a different premise, so there are motivations and relationship dynamics here that definitely aren't present in __Kindred__._

* * *

**Birds**

Bill Weasley didn't like Veela.

He didn't mind that they were nonhuman. That was inescapable. Every movement was alien, every parting of their lips when they spoke was distracting, every time their pupils slid around in their eyes to glance - it wasn't human. When he'd been at the World Cup, realized Veela were imminent, he didn't need Dad's warning to stopper his ears. He narrowed his eyes for good measure, so the undulation of their dancing figures was little more than a shifting glimmer.

Charlie teased - "Don't worry, lovelylocks, they won't carry you off unless you let them" - and elaborately fluffed Bill's ponytail.

"Come on," Bill tried. "Don't you see it? The dances, the voices - they totally take away reason. I don't want that anywhere near me. It's as bad as the Imperius Curse."

Charlie snorted. "And you're a Curse-Breaker."

Bill sighed shortly. "There's no breaking it. Sure, in the Muggle stories you can tame a Veela by stealing her swan skin, because she's really just a bird masquerading as a woman. But that's just Muggle rubbish. The only bird a Veela is is a monster."

* * *

When Bill first saw the Beauxbatons Champion, he made a concerted effort not to stare at her. For one thing, it was rude. For another, the girl, though gorgeous in the brief glimpse he'd had of her, was with her mum. For yet another, _he_ was with his mum. After reflecting that he'd never seen such silvery blonde hair on a human until now, he put her from his mind.

* * *

Less than a month later, when he realized this Beauxbatons Champion was somehow working at Gringotts - just as he'd precipitously transferred to London to help with the Order - he was not remotely pleased. Their first meeting, when she'd brought him some forms he'd had to sign, had nearly driven thought from his head. For a moment, he thought he was speaking to an extraordinarily beautiful human woman. The next moment, she glanced up, and by some trick of light or shadow he realized she was part Veela. Then it was gone. She was a human. Then she walked to his office door to go, and in the sway of her hips, he saw a flicker of a Veela's dance.

He didn't want to see her again.

He broke curses. He studied so that people couldn't be held captive under magical control of any type. Fleur Delacour's effect on him seemed almost like a personal offense.

Walking on his lunch break, he saw her seated on a park bench, looking expressionlessly into the distance, her hair dappled by the shadow of a tree. It was several seconds before he realized he'd stopped walking just so he could take in the way the dark patches rippled across her.

He turned away quickly, marching back to Gringotts' front steps. He was almost there before he realized how angry he was - and was shamed by it. Really, what had she done that he should resent her? Could she help what she was? Was ignoring her really the way to solve this?

But, turning, Bill knew it wasn't pity or shame that made him approach her. And he wasn't...curious. How stalkerish would that be? She didn't mean to curse him, so there was nothing to eradicate. He just needed to get used to her, then the effect of her beauty would be dulled and she'd just be another person.

And maybe that _was_ the reason he approached her.

* * *

She'd come to London to "eemprove 'er Eenglish". Didn't she just have terrible timing, what with the danger bubbling under the surface? It was a good thing, Bill thought, that she was neither pureblood nor purely human, otherwise he would've suspected her of being a Death Eater. What information she'd be able to get for Voldemort with the curve of hip, of cheek, of mouth, of eyelid, of eyelash. Bill had kept up a flow of conversation just to keep his mind engaged on something other than her. Slowly, he almost relaxed, somehow reassured that she talked about the same things as anyone, moving to England, how much she hated her new job. Her constant mispronunciations and lapses in vocabulary did a lot to counteract her looks. Her tone was haughty, sometimes abrasive, reminding Bill of things he'd heard about her from Ginny, something about Ron going down in flames after asking Fleur to the Yule Ball. Well, that was to be expected. There were trade-offs. He shouldn't expect her to be beautiful and a saint.

Still, Bill liked her well enough, liked the way she tried to work around her limited vocabulary, kept using gestures to make her meanings clear, seemed frustrated when she insisted he hadn't understood what she was trying to say ("No, no, no, you see, I want to take all of zese bullying goblins and - and- " "Hang them by their thumbs?" "No, no, pry zeir feengernails off weeth - oh, what's eet called?" "A crow bar?" "What?" "A crow bar." "No, zis 'as notheeng to do weeth birds, you aren't leestening!").

Despite enjoying her conversation, Bill didn't completely relax, covertly glancing at her face or bare lower arms, looking for anything as familiar as a mole or a small scar. Her skin was so pale it looked cold; he wondered if it would give any if he touched it.

He mentally shook himself, annoyance tumbling back. He was supposed to be getting used to her.

* * *

That night, having come back to his flat after standing guard at the Durselys' for five hours, Bill dreamed about his last ex, Aziza Akbar. She had a mole at the base of her throat that she always said she'd have removed, though he knew she loved it when he sneaked a kiss there. She'd been a secretary at Gringotts' Cairo branch, happy with a desk job that would have driven Bill crazy. Most of it was routine desk work, so routine it was almost automatic, but she liked how that left her free to think.

In the dream, they were walking by some shops in Luxor, she smoking, he talking about a pyramid that probably didn't even exist in reality. She flapped her hand, wanting him to hurry up and get to the point. Her short hair gleamed like smooth jet in the afternoon sunlight, and she mentioned that she'd found another gray hair that morning. And, as always in real life, she took a moment to say that she'd found her first gray hair at fourteen, and her mother had found her first at twelve.

Bill still tried to talk about the pyramid, because even if it didn't interest her, it interested him and wasn't that something? But she flapped her hand and told him that she didn't think this was working out between the two of them - And he broke in and said, no, Aziza, in real life _he'd _broken up with her, not the other way around - and she said he was always talking about himself, it wasn't that interesting - and he said something about her smoking, did she have to just because everyone else in Egypt did - and then she was flapping her hand faster to make him shut up, and it wasn't her hand, it was a bird's wing flapping, so white it looked cold. Veela-like, Fleur was a bird, not the scaled winged monster a Veela should have been but a dove.

Then he woke up, partway, dragged his hand down his face. Birds. Pretty, sure. Talked - no, sang prettily. But you couldn't do anything with them but watch them sing, and they had a thing for flying away.

* * *

Sometimes Bill was sure that he had offered to improve Fleur's English because he was a linguistic purist who hated hearing his native language royally demolished, no matter how lovely the demolition expert was. Sometimes he was sure it was because his better judgment had been subsumed by his physical attraction to her. Sometimes he wondered if he was just a randy perv who was subconsciously waiting to take advantage of her. Why did he keep seeking her out? What was his rationale? Oh yeah, he was talking to her so he could learn to ignore her.

He was partial to the linguistic purist excuse today.

Fleur still talked like a human, but the brief gleam of her teeth when she smiled, the sun glowing on her bare nails as she gestured made Bill see a Veela's fangs and claws. The wind tumbled and splayed her hair somehow more wildly than his. During lulls in their lessons, when neither spoke, her face relaxed, thoughtful and content and distractingly human.

Bill fancied he carried himself better than most of the other men who encountered Fleur. He listened to what she said for one thing, more than just to agree with her. For another, he knew better than to stare at anything other than her face when she was looking.

Obviously his plans...whichever they were... that's right, being a linguist and conditioning himself to her presence, were working.

* * *

Totally platonic. In fact, after two weeks of being platonic with Fleur every single day, Bill had an overwhelming urge to write to Caso. Esther Caso. Just saying the syllables made it seem like 1989 again, their seventh year at Hogwarts, Caso with her Slytherin green eyes. Seeing her would do him wonders.

Not that there was anything wrong with Bill Weasley.

* * *

_Hey-_

_Strangest thing happened the other day. I found my old seventh year Potions text and realized I haven't heard from you in years. What the hell's wrong? You were supposed to be making headlines by now, feeding cheapskate tourists to Peruvian Viperteeth. Explain yourself._

_-Bill Weasley _

And, in short order-

_You pimple, it took your Potions text to remind you of me? Suddenly I remember why we broke up. Are you still in Egypt or have you come back to civilization? I'm in London to visit the parents. Can I see you?_

_-Me_

And in almost shorter order, they'd agreed to meet in Diagon Alley that weekend.

* * *

Bill wasn't sure what to expect, much less to feel. Given the bitterness surrounding their breakup, he would've been uncomfortable meeting with Aziza. But he and Caso had been prefects together at Hogwarts, he for Gryffindor, she for Slytherin, and they'd dated on and off their sixth and seventh years. After graduation, Bill had uneasily viewed several of his friends and classmates getting married immediately. He was heading for Libya for Gringotts while Caso was going to work Incan ruins in South America for Terrortours. The breakup had been mutual, amicable and an unspoken relief to both of them. They'd kept in touch for a couple years, but inertia had pulled each away. Bill still thought of her at times, unsure whether it was as a friend or something more.

He sat eating an ice cream at a small circular table outside of Florean Fortescue's, scanning the crowd for Caso. He assumed she'd look different after six years, though he couldn't exactly imagine it. He thought he'd recognize her eyes for sure.

"Bill!" said a surprised voice behind him. He slid around in his chair, looking calm despite the fact he'd nearly smashed his ice cream cone into his chin, meeting a pair of dark blue eyes.

An odd mix of pleasure and frustration poked the back of his mind. "Oh - hey."

"What eez zis?" Fleur demanded, raising an eyebrow, though she continued to smile. "I only ever see you working or at our lessons. Are you being lazy for once?"

"Gluttonous, actually." He gestured with the cone, glancing past her, sure he'd see Caso any second, simultaneously hoping she'd be delayed several hours. "What're you up to?"

She held up a paper bag that read _Scribbulus' Ever-Changing Inks_. "Ze counterman could 'ardly understand me. Eez my accent really so bad?"

"Yes."

She glanced at the seat across from Bill, her smile slipping. Her free hand clasped the other. "Are you busy? We could 'ave a lesson now eef-"

"Sorry," Bill said, a trifle flatly. "I'm about to meet someone."

"Oh." Fleur lifted her chin. "Of course." Her smile didn't change her eyes. "Zen I'll be seeing you."

Bill forced the pleasantness - the pleasantness he wanted to feel again - back into his voice. "Sure. How about tomorrow?"

Fleur looked off into the distance for a moment. "No," she answered, the word like a drop of water, too cold to be refreshing. Then she positively sparkled. "I weel be too busy to see you. Per'aps een a few days, or a week." She turned swiftly, the hem of her skirt flirting around her knees, and strode off.

"Right," Bill muttered.

* * *

He was slurping up the soggy remains of his cone when a pram halted next to his chair. He looked down at a rumply sleeping baby, then up into a pair of green eyes.

Which he instantly recognized, which made it all rather shocking.

He sprang up. "Caso!"

She grinned. "Merlin's feet, look at you!" She hugged him, depositing a brief kiss on his cheek. "Good grief, you're more of a punk now than you were at school." She tapped his earring.

"You - you-" He looked down at the pram again. "You've accessorized."

"Don't wake him, he just went down." As they seated themselves, Bill noticed her hair was light brown. She'd colored it blonde last he'd seen her. Gone too were the enormous rings she'd loved to wear, just a band on her left hand. And the baby.

Well, he'd only wanted to catch up. Not start something. He had no desire to start anything. With anyone. Anyone he knew. At the moment.

"Sorry I had to bring him, the sitter copped out at the last moment."

"No problem. Er, what's his name?"

"Douglas Michael," she replied proudly.

Bill wished he had something to do with his hands. He fingered the edge of his paper napkin. "So you're spliced? Do I know the creep?"

"No, I met Miguel in Chile. He works for Terrortours too. What've you been up to?'

He waved airily. "You know, the great dream. Breaking into tombs and all that. But I needed to catch up with my family-" (great excuse) "-so I'm here for the time being. Anyway, Caso, did you follow the-"

"Esther," she said.

He blinked.

She shrugged. "I started liking my first name. And Caso's just so weird."

He shrugged noncommittally. He'd always liked her surname.

"Besides, it's Esther Pupitre now, and I don't want you calling me that."

Bill suppressed a wince. "So...er, did you follow the World Cup last year?"

* * *

Partway through their halting conversation, while Bill was trying to keep his attention on Esther's story about how she'd saved her cat's life by casting a hair ball expelling charm, he noticed that she'd trailed off mid-sentence, her upper lip curling. "Look at that," she said a moment later, pointing to a shop down the street.

She'd indicated Slug and Jiggers' Apothecary, which seemed to be holding some special event - or a new marketing ploy. Several pretty witches stood just outside of the shop in short sparkly robes, offering free samples of something from an equally glittery cauldron. One carried a sign that promoted some special three-day sale. A small crowd, mostly of wizards, was already gathering. Bill guessed that Esther wanted him to be offended, so he turned back to her, his raised eyebrow inviting her to rant.

"I'm sorry - I know I've talked about this before, but it's just so backward, isn't it? Can't people sell anything without dragging out the sexpots? People should take pride in what they sell, not how much cleavage their employees are flashing! And those girls - dammit, don't they have any self-respect? They know that nobody there cares about what they're feeling or-"

"It's not a brothel. They're just promoting something."

"Yeah!" Esther fired back. "Shallowness." She sat back, chewing her lower lip a moment. "Oh hell, what was I going on about? Girls like that don't care that nobody cares about them."

Bill frowned.

"Don't give me that doubtful look. Look, a girl who spends enough time to look that gorgeous - she doesn't care about anything else. That's all she's putting into herself. Walk up to any of them, they're not going to have any new ideas in their heads."

The longer this conversation went on, the less Bill wanted to be with her. "Maybe they're naturally-"

"Come off it, Bill. No one's naturally gorgeous. And if something could naturally look like that, I'd wonder why it had to. What sort of creature_ has_ to be beautiful to survive?"

Bill had absently crumpled his napkin into total shapelessness.

* * *

Esther wanted a carton of ice cream to bring back to her parents, so she'd gone inside to pick one out, asking Bill to watch over the still-sleeping Douglas Michael, whom Bill kept the corner of his eye on while he thought about their conversation. What sort of creature depended on being beautiful? What did beauty do? Well, it attracted attention. It fueled desire. It drove away reason... Bill shook his head. No, Fleur wasn't trying to control him. He knew her well enough to know that. Why then had whatever God that was out there made her so beautiful?

It must make up for something else lacking in her.

Idly, he watched the witches in front of the apothecary. Esther had surmised they didn't have an original thought among them. Was Fleur the same? She was an interesting conversationalist. He tried to think of anything deeply profound she'd ever said, anything that had truly startled him. Maybe she was a parrot, smart enough to know which things to repeat; maybe that's all her intelligence was.

His reverie was broken by the sound of Douglas mewling. Bill glanced at the shop but saw that Esther was leaning over the counter, deep in conversation with Fortescue's counter girl. Sighing, Bill withdrew his wand and bent over the fussy baby.

He wasn't the eldest of seven for nothing. In a moment, Douglas was quiet, his wide eyes fixed on the large soap bubbles coming out of the tip of Bill's wand. Drool glistened on his lower lip, but Bill could tell that he was ready to start crying again if not sufficiently distracted.

"That's right, bubbles, Duggles," he said softly. He let a bubble pop gently against Douglas' nose, which made the baby pump his legs, fists closing and unclosing. Grinning, Bill added a soft chiming noise to each bubble, surrounding the baby with a series of musical _dings_. Douglas' eyes widened even more as he saw his own reflection in the bubbles, distorted. But another reflection hovered in the bubbles, and with a trickling feeling down the back of his neck, Bill raised his head. "Oh, hey, Fleur. Still shopping?"

It took a moment for him to register that she was whiter than he'd ever seen her before, her eyes wide and dark, the lines of her collar bones standing out sharply. She didn't speak for a long moment, and when her voice came, it sounded oddly constricted. "'Ello, Bill - Eez - your baby?"

"No," Bill said, not pausing to think about why he felt uncomfortable. "Minding him for a friend, that's all."

Faint color flooded back into her skin, her face softening. "Oh." Then she hardened again. "You are meeting with a - friend. I shall not keep you from 'er." She hitched her hand bag higher onto her shoulder and walked away before he could say anything else, her hair fanning behind her like a bird's wing.

"Ugh," Esther said after a moment, "they didn't have any more boysenberry. I had to settle for pistachio." She shoved the carton of ice-cream into the pram's pocket. "What are you looking at?"

* * *

"You're 'urt!"

Inwardly, Bill flinched, not only because his sleeve had fallen back, revealing the long, shallow cut on his forearm but because of the fine blade of accusation in Fleur's voice.

He looked up from the list of English vocabulary he'd been making (_trap, mystery, dream, hope, danger_), tapping the feathered end of his quill. That gave him time to manage a one-shouldered shrug. "Eh, it's less impressive than it looks."

The glare hadn't left her eyes, heightened by the sunlight hitting their bench. "You told me notheeng 'appened to you zis weekend. Yet zat - _blessure_ was not zere last Friday."

Bill had a hunch_ blessure_ might roughly translate to _Cut I received from an unknown party I barely escaped, probably a Death Eater, possibly one who managed to identify me as I was prowling around the Ministry last night, possibly one who's staked me out, possibly one who might come flying in at any moment and curse us into clear soup._ He shrugged again, though it hadn't worked any miracles last time. "Eh. Maybe I got it on the job. The goblins have me working these old barrows up in-"

She narrowed her eyes, her lips even; it wasn't a look he'd seen before, and he didn't like it. "Why are you lying to me?" With a fast movement that he initially didn't register, she snatched her English dictionary back into her handbag, as well as her quills and papers. By the time she'd swung around to stalk off, he'd jumped to his feet and grabbed her wrist, one latent part of him realizing this was the first time he'd touched her skin. It was as warm as a human's, but when she turned to him, her lips were tight together, her tensed eyes remote.

"Wait - hey, don't - er... Look, it's just a cut, it's nothing to worry about."

Fleur bent her head slightly, still looking at him, then jerked her wrist free. "What, you want to keep me 'ere while you lie to me? You 'ave some nerve."

Again, she stalked off. Bill shook himself, unused to having no ready answers, not being able to spin events to his favor. Why had that happened - why really? His thoughts were hobbled, as though... No, he wasn't under a spell. Bill knew about spells. If he were cursed, he would've felt it lessen the moment Fleur left. Bill took a deep breath, trying to ease the hard taut feeling in his chest.

* * *

Fleur glanced to one side, tapping her left shoe. "Of course I expect you to say you're sorry. When I saw you coming 'ere weeth zat...miserable face-"

Bill raised his eyebrows. "Miserable?"

Her gaze shot to him. "_Miserable_ face, I deed not expect to 'ear you say zat you theenk I'm an unreasonable - an unreasonable...um, you 'aven't taught me many vulgar words..." She looked away again, chafing her own arm thoughtfully.

"I wouldn't use them now anyway," he answered, wondering if it sounded too gallant. He sidestepped to let a goblin wobbling under a stack of folders pass. For two days, he'd been looking for Fleur, wanting to talk to her. Of course once he'd found her it _had_ to be in a back corridor of Gringotts. He kept part of his attention on the far end of the hall, ready for someone else to come barging through. "Anyway, I didn't really want to talk about it." He gestured vaguely to his arm, annoyed that he still wasn't being up-front with her. "Kinda embarrassing."

Fleur tucked the papers she'd been carrying into the crook of her arm, pressing them against her side. Before Bill could decide whether or not he was hoping for it, she'd taken his forearm, rolling back the sleeve. For a moment, he almost wished it weren't healing so nicely.

"Don't you know any 'ealing spells?" Fleur asked. "You should take eet to your muzzer to see to."

Bill winced outright, but luckily she wasn't looking up at him. Great. Had a battle wound and she told him to take it to his mum.

And by then, she'd released his arm, and he'd never gotten a chance to really enjoy it. "Well, I am sorry I shouted at you."

"It's fine." He smiled again, feeling warm.

"Eet's just-" She glanced up at him, then down, then up again and lifted her chin. "I am 'urt you do not theenk I am someone you can trust."

_Au revoir_ went the warm feeling. Bill stood irresolute, not wanting to lie to her, not wanting to admit that he was afraid to trust her because of her beauty.

Afraid? No - he knew Fleur well enough - he knew there was more to her than her beauty - right? - was there? - She wasn't enchanting him - What had he meant to say?

"I'll see you later," she said, walking away. Again.

* * *

The next morning, he met her outside of Magical Menagerie. She was glaring at a hoopoe in a cage hanging on the outside of the window with a banner proclaiming a sale beneath it. The bird was bright orange with an absurdly long thin beak, barely balanced by a short crest on the back of its head. Its wings were barred with black and white, and a chain glittered from a ring on its ankle, tethering it to its perch.

"What's wrong?" Bill asked. "Did the bird steal your wallet?"

She jumped, startled, then looked quickly from him to the bird. "I just theenk eet's stupid. Zey already put ze bird in a cage. Deed zey 'ave to chain it too?"

"It's either that or clip its wings, I guess. So, do you want to visit that new-"

"I'd like to break zat chain." She reached up and touched the rim of the cage, her nails chiming against it. The bird bounced on its perch, wings twitching. "Why do you theenk people keep birds?"

Several weeks ago, Bill might've started off with an "Erm..." and ended with a shrug. But knowing Fleur for even a short time had taught him when she really wanted an answer. "Well, they're beautiful." Self-consciously, he turned his gaze from her to the bird. "They can fly. I guess we're jealous." He smiled, but she wasn't looking. "And they sing."

"Hmph. Why should zey?" She lowered her hand and turned to look up at him, the same wistful, hard way she'd stared at the bird. "Zey fly. But 'umans cut zeir weengs. Zey make music, but 'umans cover zeir cages. Eef 'umans want to keep birds, zey must first take away everytheeng zat makes a bird beautiful."

Bill's gaze hovered uncertainly over her face. "Well...there's more to birds than being beautiful." He wasn't sure where he was going with that one, only that he seemed to have been grinding it down in his mind lately. "I mean, if they only existed to be beautiful, there wouldn't be much point to them."

"A point?" She stepped closer to him, all but forcing him to meet her eyes. "Why eezn't beauty eets own point? "

Some profound statement about beauty cruelly misleading people struggled up through his throat, about to come out. Then he cleared his throat and shoved it back down again.

"Beauty geeves delight." She shrugged. "Zat's all." She glanced back at the hoopoe. "But not always for everyone. Eet's true zat beauty can make you eento a slave."

_That's what I was about to say,_ Bill almost said, then realized she was referring to the bird. The bird, not the human, was the slave. He frowned down at Fleur, wondering, for the first time, what it must be like to be so beautiful. What that beauty might make others think about you.

"Well-" Fleur drew a long sigh "-we might as well start ze lesson. Where deed you want to - Bill?"

"Just a second," Bill promised, pointing his wand at the bird's cage and muttering a simple _Alohomora_. Another spell for the chain. Fleur jumped back, emitting a delighted shriek as the hoopoe swept out of its cage, zebra-striped wings whirring. Bill smiled, stepping close to her, wondering what on earth he'd say to the shopkeeper, wondering if he should put his arm around Fleur.


End file.
